The sun had not yet touched the horizon when the alarm clock in the guest cottage shrieked. It was four in the morning. Silas sat up and felt every inch of his body protesting. His back was a knot of tension. His hands were stiff. He looked at the bruised skin on his knuckles. He was no longer a man who moved numbers on a screen. He was a man who moved crates.
He dressed in the dark. He found a pair of heavy work pants and a thick shirt. He walked across the yard to the main house. The light in the kitchen was already on. He saw June through the window. She was standing by the counter. She was packing sandwiches into a cooler. She looked tired but focused.
Silas stepped onto the porch. He did not knock. He walked in and took a seat at the table. A mug of black coffee was waiting for him.
"The north grove is first," June said. She did not look up. "The Honey crisps are at their peak. If we don't get them off the branches today, the heat will soften them. We lose the premium price if they aren't firm."
"I am ready," Silas said. He took a long pull of the coffee. It was strong and bitter.
"You think you are," June said. She finally looked at him. Her eyes were guarded. "But this isn't like clearing brush. You have to be fast. You have to be careful. If you bruise the fruit, it goes to the cider pile. That is half the profit gone."
Bea walked into the kitchen. She wore a thick cardigan and a frown. She looked at Silas and then at the clock. She didn't say good morning. She just started frying bacon. The sound filled the room. The smell was a reminder of the life Silas had missed for a decade. It was a simple life, but it was a demanding one.
"Miller is meeting us at the loading dock," Bea said. She turned the bacon with a fork. "He said the old tractor is acting up again. He's going to try to keep it running through the weekend."
Silas felt a familiar tighten in his chest at the mention of Miller. He didn't want the vet's help. He wanted to be the one who fixed things. But he knew he didn't have the skills yet. He was a billionaire who had just learned how to use a shovel.
They finished breakfast in a silence that was not exactly cold, but it was not warm either. They walked out to the groves just as the sky turned a pale, watery blue. The dew was heavy on the grass. It soaked through Silas's boots in minutes.
The work began immediately. June showed him how to twist the apple so the stem stayed intact. She moved with a speed that was impossible to match. Silas tried to keep up. He reached into the branches. The leaves were wet. The cold water ran down his sleeves. Within an hour, his shoulders were screaming.
By mid-morning, the sun was high. The humidity began to rise. Silas felt the sweat stinging his eyes. He hauled the heavy wooden crates to the end of the row. Each one weighed forty pounds. He did not complain. He watched June. She was a machine. She didn't stop for water. She didn't pause to rest. She was fighting for her home, and Silas realized he had to fight just as hard to prove he belonged there.
A loud backfire echoed through the trees. The rusted tractor came crawling down the path. Miller was at the wheel. He stopped near Silas and hopped down. He looked at the half-filled crates. He looked at Silas, who was gasping for air.
"You're falling behind, Silas," Miller said. He wasn't being mean. He was stating a fact. "The truck from the distributor comes at noon. If these aren't loaded, they don't get to the city markets by tomorrow."
"I've got it," Silas said. He picked up two crates at once. His muscles shook.
"Don't be a hero," Miller said. He stepped in and grabbed a crate. "You'll throw your back out, and then June will be down two hands instead of one."
Silas watched Miller work. The vet was strong. He knew the rhythm of the orchard. He and June worked together like a team that had done this a thousand times. They laughed at a joke Silas didn't hear. They shared a water bottle. Silas felt like a ghost. He was the husband on paper, but he was an intruder in this world.
The tension broke when a loud snap came from the tractor. A cloud of black smoke billowed from the engine. The machine groaned and died.
"That's it," Miller said. He wiped his hands on a rag. "The belt snapped. I told you she was on her last legs, June."
June dropped her picking bag. She looked at the dead tractor. She looked at the dozens of crates still sitting in the dirt. Her face went pale. "The truck is coming in two hours, Miller. We can't haul these by hand. It's too far."
"I can try to bypass the pulley," Miller said. He leaned over the engine. "But it will take time. Time we don't have."
Silas walked over. He looked at the engine. He didn't know much about tractors, but he knew about logistics. He looked at his SUV parked near the house. It was a high-end vehicle with four-wheel drive and a heavy towing capacity.
"We don't need the tractor," Silas said.
June looked at him. "What are you talking about?"
"The SUV," Silas said. "I have a tow chain in the back. We can hitch the flatbed trailer to my car. It can handle the mud."
"That car costs more than this house, Silas," June said. "You'll ruin the interior. You'll scratch the paint."
"It's just a car, June," Silas said. He pulled the keys from his pocket. "It's a tool. Right now, it's the only tool that matters."
He ran to the house. He drove the black SUV into the grove. He didn't care about the branches scratching the sides. He didn't care about the mud caking the tires. He backed it up to the trailer. Miller helped him hook the chain.
For the next hour, Silas drove. He hauled load after load to the loading dock. He worked the crates himself. He didn't let Miller help with the heavy lifting. He pushed himself until his vision blurred. He was determined to show June that he was willing to sacrifice his old life, piece by piece, to save this one.
The distributor's truck pulled in at exactly noon. The crates were stacked and ready. The driver signed the manifest. June stood on the dock and watched the truck pull away. She looked at the black SUV. It was covered in filth. The back bumper was dented.
She walked over to Silas. He was leaning against the hood. He was covered in sweat and grease. He looked exhausted.
"You ruined your car," she said.
"I saved the harvest," Silas said.
June looked at him. For the first time, the wall in her eyes seemed to crack. She reached out and wiped a smudge of oil from his cheek. Her touch was light. It was brief. But it was there.
"Go get some water," she said quietly. "We have the south grove to do after lunch."
Silas watched her walk back toward the house. He felt the pain in his body, but he also felt a spark of hope. He had traded a luxury vehicle for a moment of connection. It was the best deal he had ever made.